A matter of time
by Dame Loli
Summary: Pyre and arrows still haunted the dreams of the smallest knight of Gondor. Oneshot.


A matter of time

At the darkest of the night, when all sounds of the city finally ceased for a moment (mere seconds that seemed an eternity for those still haunted by the black despair that had clung on every white stones like leeches on an oozing wound), nightmares and bleak visions of death and pain assaulted the smallest knight of Gondor.

Even the comforting nearness of his cousins couldn't abide all his thoughts. Sounds and smells kept assaulting his mind; his body, suffering from phantom crushing of great troll and everlasting grief, had long gave up the fight of bless sleep.

The mist of the Rauros falls dampened his skin while soot paved his lungs. The whistle of the arrows competed with the roaring of the flames. Burning flesh and decaying stench filled his nose, mouth and throat until his breath wheezed out of him, reminder of the grey mountain that had befallen upon him not even a month ago.

He had not come unscathed of their ordeal. His left knee cramped every now and then; his right shoulder was as stiff as a board most of the time; his vision blurred at the slightest headache; and his heart still thudded heavily in his chest at the mere mention of father and son.

He wished he could have done more for those lost souls. He had been a mere bystander as they aged and grow weary under his helpless gaze. They had fallen to the same fate, tormented by the void of life and hope, by the premature passing of loved ones and the slow crumbling of the last bastion who had defied, once proud and strong, the Dark Lord until the last child shed his toys for wavering sword and broken shield. One had burned bright in the end while the other had flickered out.

He had bound himself to honor and pledged to love. The silver tree upon his chest had been small warmth in the cold night; the light of the candle setting it ablaze, shedding a golden glow on his brow, on the precise part of skin who had received the departing kiss of Boromir, the loving one of Frodo, the healing one of Aragorn, the grateful one of Merry, the proud one of Gandalf and the compassionate one of Faramir.

He blindly gazed at the molten wax by his nightstand. The first ray of sunlight had settled on Frodo's left hand, his missing finger a burning red against the pure white of the duvet.

They had been encased in a ring of fire, the world outside distorted by the scorching heat. The roots of nature would grow back stronger than ever and all that was ashes and smoke will be once again a luxurious green. The time had come for him to lay in the ground his haunting ghosts and pray they had made it pass the enemy's wall of flames.

His musing were interrupted has the door creaked open, Aragorn entering the room silently for his morning routine, his eyes swiftly assessing Merry sleeping form, then Sam's, Frodo's to finally rest upon Pippin who smiled back at him. Kingly eyebrows raised slightly in a practiced motion before they set in a frown that had adorned his face at the past audiences.

In three smooth strides he was by his bedsides and sat near the hobbit. A healing hand absently checked for fever while he steadily bore into green eyes for he had witness previous restless nights.

The young Took looked down and said in a small voice, cheeks flushed: "I couldn't sleep." The king did not press on, but the firmness of his shoulders confirmed he still expected an elaboration. "Every time I close my eyes, I see them Strider. They endlessly die and I feel so helpless and small."

"I am afraid I cannot offer you much comfort for it takes time to close such hurts. But I do have some words: Boromir died as he lived, on the soil of Gondor, sword in hand defending those he loved. As for Denethor, I do know he battled long and hard against Him and his heart longed for his departed wife.

I cannot lift the burden that weights you, but I can help you shoulder it as would your cousins and friends. You must let time do its work, my brave little knight. And now, the time has come for you to get some sleep. If you still experience troubles, we will try chamomile tea. It should ease your rest."

The ranger tucked the tweenager, a soft smile playing on his lips. He kissed his forehead and left as silently as he had come to the room, sending one last glance at the slumbering hobbits. The new age had flourish from the ashes of the ancient world and a new dawn had risen from the shadows of the east; the sky alight with orange, red, yellow, ochre, gold and deep purple clouds.

A smile graced his lips as he watched the steady breathing deepening; the little one finally giving in to the exhaustion. His mouth suddenly pressed in a bitter line as the mementos of nameless faces and faceless names assaulted his mind. So many had died and yet, so many still suffered from foul memories, half-dead or half-alive, mindlessly caught in times of darkness.

It would take so many years to cleanse the earth, to enjoy once again the fragrance of a spring rain, the smell of the wet grass and the blowing wind, singing in the highest branches.

Yes, all they needed was time. All they could hope for was time, because in the end, as all that was grey turned silver, as the occidental sun shined red on the age of men, they wanted to buy more time.

* * *

**The deepest thank you to Lunawannabe who helped me improved this story.**

My first Lord of the Ring homage and I fear I botched it up since I do not think my English will ever be on pair with Professor Tolkien.

I always wondered how Pippin dealt with Boromir and Denethor's deaths and I tried to fill it up. Tell me what you think.

I wish to dedicate this work to Budgielover who writes fantastic LOTR stories and I say to you "Bravo!"

P.S.: If someone wished to Beta it, he is more than welcome.

P.S.S.: I am first and foremost a French speaker and truly hope it didn't destroy my work.


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